


let's take the long way home

by loveclouds



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 12:44:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8579077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveclouds/pseuds/loveclouds
Summary: Oikawa and Iwaizumi see each other again for the first time in three years and learn what it means to be far, or close, or home.





	

\---

 

To talk about distance, it has to be framed. 

 

Iwaizumi is fortunate to be born into a world outpacing itself with innovation. A phone call, an email, a half-hour Skype chat, little snippets of lives over screens that almost make up for the kilometers causing just enough lag to be noticeable. He seeks out wifi before he seeks out a bathroom when he checks into hotels these days and he knows he should cut back, hike a modest mountain before he refreshes his email _again._

 

But to be absent in physical presence means that much more worth to be present in any way he can. Minutes, weeks, years, the confusing backwards counting of timezone differences, dealing with the insanity people call daylight savings time, working overtime, drunkenly missing the last train, saving birthdays into his phone calendar, mailing presents weeks in advance to be on time, and a dozen more negotiations of _time_ between two people, perhaps the furthest distance life can inflict.

 

Iwaizumi refreshes his email again, spine tightening when he sees a new alert.

 

_Iwa-chan~~~_

 

Typical Oikawa. Iwaizumi doesn’t have a single note, single letter, single email that doesn’t start like that.

 

_Italy has been so~ hot lately!! But they have so much good food that I can’t complain…_  
_But will you still love me when I’m fat!?_  
_Ishikawa-san has been a godsend with his notebook of helpful Italian phrases. I don’t think I’m a languages person…_  
_Iwa-chan, did you know cheese could be so delicious on literally everything??_  
_Captain yelled at me again for taking so long to make my perfect hair stay perfect…_  
_How could I not, though? There are so many beautiful people all around!_  
_Training has been going alright, though I still have a long way to go. The Italian players are amazing. But sometimes they miss and I wish I was tossing to you instead!!_  
_Oh Iwa-chan, it’s a good thing you’re not here though, or you’ll get depressed from all the beautiful people who don’t want to kiss you and your grumpy face~_  
_Okay let’s talk again soon~!!_

_Your eternal truth and captain and favorite setter,  
Oikawa-san_

 

“Oh my god, just die,” Iwaizumi mutters under his breath, but when he looks out the train window, he catches a glimpse of the wide, glittering grin on his face in the reflection, and doesn’t even try to take it back.

 

\---

 

In its entirety, without counting phone calls or Skype sessions or crossfire updates from Oikawa’s mom to Iwaizumi’s mom to each other and back and forth, Iwaizumi hasn’t seen Oikawa at all in over two years. There are holidays where they both pop home for a recharge but that hasn’t coincided since the last year of university. 

 

“Oikawa jetted off one way so you went off the other,” Hanamaki had said to him the last time he was home. “I thought you guys were going to stick together until old age and die together surrounded by cats and deflated volleyballs, but I guess we all make understandably wrong assumptions in our lives.” And Hanamaki hadn’t been unkind when he had looked at Iwaizumi with a knowing smile, no sugar left between childhood friends to coat his words. “But seriously, it’s weird to see you guys every year separately. It’s like wearing one sock out when you know the other sock’s just hanging out somewhere in the bottom of the sock drawer.”

 

A pair of socks, setter and ace, A and Un, the start and the end; whatever else that everyone’s called them in their lives, Iwaizumi can say clearly that he and Oikawa are not the same. They aren’t identical, only complementary, and sometimes life necessitates change. 

 

Nothing would ever change that they’ve been together longer than their memories know differently. Nothing would ever change that they’re on the same side of battle, no matter who it is they’re fighting, volleyball or otherwise. Nothing would ever change that they’re best friends, the kind that people write emotionally charged Buzzfeed articles about.

 

The kind that makes sure to email at least once a week, if not call, even when life gets crazy and timezones blur and Iwaizumi won’t even bother to call his own mother.

 

“Actually, it’s long-distance couples who tend to put in that kind of effort” Hanamaki had said when Iwaizumi explained with some defensiveness that he and Oikawa _do_ indeed keep in regular contact, “but if you want to call it best friends...”

 

“So we’re long-distance best friends,” Iwaizumi replies, “it’s all almost the same.”

 

Hanamaki gives him a very pointed look, the kind he used to when they were still second-years in senior high and Iwaizumi was distracted enough to spike a ball into the middle of the net. Or whenever Oikawa would use Iwaizumi’s lap as a pillow after lunch, the four of them pushing the afternoon bell ringing as far as they could, and Oikawa would snake those slender setter’s fingers around his ankle.

 

“And I wanted to travel in the first place.”

 

“Because Oikawa left, I told you.” 

 

It had been snowing outside. The snow was good this past winter, snowman-building material, big flakes with just the right amount of moisture. Iwaizumi remembers being seven and building ET with Oikawa in the neighborhood park, and he had lost a scarf to that thing at Oikawa’s insistence that ET, even the snow version, would get cold at night.

 

“It’s not like he asked me to go with him.” Iwaizumi sounds irritable, even to himself. Volleyball is Oikawa’s entire purpose. There’s nothing more important to him; he can’t afford distractions at this level.

 

“Has he ever needed to? So that’s why you left?”

 

“I didn’t build my career path based around Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says.

 

“No,” Hanamaki agrees, “only the important bits of your life.”

 

\---

 

Explaining work is hard. It’s some mix between traveling for leisure and selling incredibly expensive travel deals to companies, a quota of at least one fleshed-out itinerary per month to send to his team leader.

 

Iwaizumi considers himself very lucky to be able to travel the world on the company’s dime. The world is a big place. He went out to see it.

 

And it really isn’t because Oikawa left Japan, that isn’t why he decided to travel. 

 

“Hajime!” his mother scolds fondly, “why don’t you call more often? I know, I know you’re busy flying around the world and sending back cheesy postcards all the time, but I must talk to Tooru-kun more than I talk to you!”

 

“You’ve talked to Oikawa lately?” Iwaizumi asks, a bit surprised. Oikawa’s been dying from training in Italy for the past couple of months. It’s a rare thing to catch Oikawa on the phone these days not either in the gym or in the middle of disturbed power-naps. 

 

Iwaizumi’s mother sighs, the rhythmic chop of a kitchen knife in the background making Iwaizumi’s heart clench with nostalgia. He should go home more often. “He sounds like he’s doing fine, just tired. Oh my precious other son, I hope he’s eating well!”

 

“Do you know that you fuss about him more than me?”

 

“He’s a good boy, Hajime! Why won’t you make Italy your next assignment destination? I’m sure there are plenty of Japanese people who would love to go to Italy for a tour. You can see Tooru along the way!”

 

“He’s too busy for that, mom.” He’s not defensive, just...thoughtful. It’s not as if he hasn’t turned the idea over and under and in circles in his head. “And I’m busy too, you know I take my job very seriously, I have lots of things going on!”

 

“...”

 

“...I’m hanging up now,” Iwaizumi says, slow-motion tucking his burning face behind his hand. Smooth, so smooth. “Yeah, I’ll call again soon.”

 

\---

 

Iwaizumi has seen a lot of the world in the last two years. He’d made the right sort of friends at university and been lucky enough to get a successful referral to a fast-growing travel agency. Though he’s not the most personable guy around, he’s honest, _unshakably real,_ as his classmates say, and he’s picked up enough behavioral weapons from Oikawa over his lifetime that he knows when to fake a smile and make it look genuine. The agency’s clients are high-flying corporate types who buy tours as employee benefit deals. That’s a lot of money to be made, a lot of disposable income, and it’s up to Iwaizumi, barely into his mid-twenties, to come up with itineraries they would like. The lived experience--what’s more tantalizing than that? Plus, he’s decently good-looking, naturally gifted with athleticism and the discipline to work at it. He’s yet to meet someone face to face and have any of his ideas shot down.

 

It’s not the most meaningful work but Iwaizumi doesn’t have aspirations to change the world. A steady paycheck, a decent swath of experiences, amiable coworkers, some career projection; what more is there to ask for?

 

“Iwaizumi-san, do you miss volleyball?” Kageyama had asked him two winters ago, when they’d both been home for the holidays. Kageyama plays the professional circuit now, to absolutely nobody’s surprise, and while Iwaizumi wouldn’t go out of his way to hang out with Kageyama of all people, they’d both been deliriously bored with being coddled and appreciated by loved ones at home after such long absences. 

 

Iwaizumi hadn’t had the right words, or the right answer. He wants to say yes, because he misses parts of those moments with fierce pride: he sting of his palm after a spike that breaks through a block, the roar of cheers after an impossible connect, the fullness to his lungs when Oikawa sets to him just right, and Iwaizumi hits it just right, and the look they used to share after, right between victory and the congratulations from everyone else, when the two of them were alone among a crowd.

 

“Sometimes,” he had answered, because it was the closest thing to the truth.

 

The university volleyball team had challenged him, and he had played as hard as he did in high school. It pushed him further than he thought capable and it was as many hours of blood and sweat and near-tears as anything he did with Seijou. 

 

It just was never the same, though. As much as he loves volleyball, and he probably always will, it was never like that last time with Oikawa, trying for the spring tournament, Karasuno at their heels and Shiratorizawa at their fingertips, when Iwaizumi was sure that Oikawa at his side and the swell in his chest would be as invincible as his youth.

 

I miss volleyball with Oikawa, he should’ve said. That would’ve been the entire truth.

 

But it’s not like he’s going to call Kageyama up and tell him that. 

 

\---

 

“Iwa- _chan!_ ”

 

“Are you yelling at me already, Trashkawa?” Iwaizumi asks, flat on his back in his hotel bed. He loosens the death grip he has on his phone, reminding himself to relax. “What’s up?”

 

“You’re always too busy for me these days!” Oikawa whines. There’s a familiar slap of volleyball against gym floor against wall echoing in the background, repeating, but no other voices. Oikawa must be practicing late by himself again.

 

Iwaizumi turns on his side. He wonders what sort of face he’s making right now. “Don’t fuck around with me, Oikawa. You’re the one who doesn’t even have time to sleep.”

 

“Awww, Iwa-chan!! Were you trying to be thoughtful about my beauty sleep? The eternal Oikawa-san deigns to recognize your loyalty and--”

 

“Jesus christ, I just called you last week, not like a year ago? Do you go out of your way to wake up each day stupider than the day before just to piss me off?”

 

“So mean, oh my god,” Oikawa snickers, “hey, I talked to your mom the other week. She told me to tell you to call her more.”

 

Iwaizumi grunts and doesn’t even answer.

 

“Brute. No wonder she can only depend on me, her unimaginably wonderful, handsome, good son.”

 

“You’re excommunicated from this point onward as dictated by me, her first son,” Iwaizumi says flatly, “also, she insists you go home for new year’s this year because she wants to get the families together. She said they’re not getting any younger and one day we’ll wake up wallowing in regret??”

 

“Oh my god, sorry,” Oikawa mumbles, and Iwaizumi can almost see the way he’s facepalming, “my mom must’ve been in a mood and gotten ahold of her. She’s really mad at me for not being home for two new year’s in a row now.”

 

“So go home.”

 

“...Um...will you go home this year?” Oikawa asks, some weird note of hesitation in his voice, and Iwaizumi is suddenly caught. 

 

What does that question mean? Does Oikawa want him to be?

 

“Maybe,” Iwaizumi answers after an awkward pause, “depends on work.”

 

“Right, right, of course.” Oikawa clears his throat. The background noise has gone quiet; he’s not fiddling with the volleyball anymore. “Yeah, me too, depends on my schedule. S- So...Iwa-chan! Any pretty girls in your life? I mean of course they must be hard of seeing to live with your grumpy face but I’m sure--”

 

“No,” Iwaizumi says, cutting him off. 

 

“Oh.” Oikawa laughs a little, and Iwaizumi wonders when they’d gotten this awkward around each other. Has it always been like this?

 

No, he decides. It’s only like this when they talk about relationships. It’s been getting worse.

 

“What about you, any beautiful Italian girls?” He’s compelled to ask despite not wanting to know. The thought of Oikawa and anyone else makes his brain short-circuit. Oikawa Tooru standing beside anyone else elicits a big blank in Iwaizumi’s head. He’s only ever seen himself stand at Oikawa’s side, in every photo from diapers to university diplomas, so he’s never had reason to need to imagine anyone else. 

 

“Um, there are always beautiful people around me,” Oikawa says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “don’t you realize how beautiful _I_ am?? And Ishikawa-san isn’t bad-looking himself, and he’s very tall, and he totally has that good boy charm to him, and--”

 

Iwaizumi lets Oikawa ramble. He doesn’t call him out for not answering the question. Truthfully, Iwaizumi doesn’t really want to know if Oikawa doesn’t want to tell him, because there has to be reason for that.

 

By the rustling and changes in echoes, Oikawa must’ve decided to leave the gym. Iwaizumi talks with him for close to an hour about nothing in particular, the entire last five minutes filled with sentences that trail off and ambiguous hums about the weather and missing Japanese food. 

 

It’s dumb; they’re going to talk again next week, anyway, like they always do. 

 

But Iwaizumi is as hesitant to hang up as Oikawa seems to be, so he doesn’t say goodnight until Oikawa _really_ has to get to the shower before bed, and even then, Oikawa does that annoying thing he always does where he insists that Iwaizumi hang up first. Iwaizumi doesn’t say _I fucking miss you,_ even though that’s what an hour on the phone of useless drivel actually means. He just says goodnight again, for maybe the seventh time, and stares at his phone for a long time after hanging up.

 

Oikawa doesn’t say it either.

 

\---

 

Somewhere between the observatory deck in the Empire State Building and trying not to get seasick on the Nile on the way to Alexandria, Iwaizumi gets an email from Matsukawa.

 

_You better come home for the new year._  
Volleyball team’s having a reunion thing.  
It’ll be good, we even begrudgingly decided to invite you and Oikawa.  
I get 1000 yen if Oikawa stares at you for more than 3 minutes solid. 

 

As soon as Iwaizumi is back where there’s reliable cell reception, he gives Matsukawa a ring. He forgets to check what time it is in Japan. 

 

“Hey globetrotter.”

 

“Reunion??”

 

“Yeah, you better come,” Matsukawa reiterates, “also, bring back more of those chocolates you sent from America. Hanamaki wants a bag, too.”

 

“Wait, wait,” Iwaizumi says, “is Oikawa going?”

 

“How should I know, I’m not the one married to him?”

 

“I’m not married to him,” Iwaizumi says, exasperated. “What were you saying in your email, about the 1000 yen?”

 

“It’s just a thing I’ve been talking about with Hanamaki, don’t worry about it,” Matsukawa dismisses, “and call Oikawa when you can to tell him to get his ass home for new year’s.”

 

“I don’t know that it’ll make a difference if I call. You should do it.”

 

“...Seriously?”

 

Iwaizumi shifts his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other, skin prickling with sweat. They’re well into autumn but Egypt holds onto heat like a convection oven. “I told him the last two years that I was going home for the new year and he wasn’t there either time. So.”

 

“You’re not really trying to tell me you think he’s avoiding you?”

 

“No,” Iwaizumi says, unable to help the defensiveness in his voice, “that’s not what I said at all.”

 

“Right,” Matsukawa replies, “well, fine, I’ll call him. You’re being weird, Iwaizumi.”

 

Don’t I know it, Iwaizumi thinks, heaving a great, weary sigh. “I’ll do what I can to come back, Mattsun. Thanks for inviting me.”

 

To that, Matsukawa laughs. “What’s a team without its ace, Iwaizumi?”

 

\---

 

Iwaizumi does his best not to think about the reunion for the next few months. Then, Oikawa’s voice, always in his mind, saying, _trying not to think about something is the same as thinking about it,_ and Iwaizumi finds that so bitterly ironic, because it’s Oikawa in his head. When is it ever not Oikawa in his head? 

 

When has trying to not think about him ever worked?

 

He would never admit to it if pressed but Iwaizumi starts to eat a bit better and hits the gym a few more times a month than he has been. He’s never out of shape but the cold is a real deterrent to keeping active. Winter settles in fast in the north and he has some regrets about Sweden at this time of year but it’s absolutely breathtaking. 

 

While he was never one to fuss about presents, he spends a long time getting people souvenirs, making sure that there’s at least one thing for everyone he’s planning on seeing. 

 

The last time he’d spoken to Oikawa on the phone about the reunion, the only answer he got was the one he’s always gotten: maybe.

 

Hoping against hope is a difficult thing. Iwaizumi doesn’t stop thinking about it, even after he lands back in Tokyo with a sore back and cramped calves, small suitcase carrying nothing but gifts.

 

\---

 

“You should stop staring at the door like that,” Hanamaki suggests, placing a small bowl of nabe in front of Oikawa. “It’s going to catch on fire. Trust me, you’ll know when he gets here.”

 

Oikawa pouts, then shoots another glance at the door to the restaurant. “Iwa-chan is soooo late. He’s never late!! He must’ve picked up some bad habits from abroad.”

 

“If you’re so worried, why don’t you just text him?” Matsukawa suggests, “I’m sure he must be back in Japan by now, just text him.”

 

“And say what!?”

 

“Just ask him where he is, that he’s late, that we started eating without him, and that you’re wondering where he is.”

 

“Mattsun, it’s not like we’re _married!_ I don’t want to hound him and- hey, stop laughing! What are you guys laughing at!?”

 

Just as Oikawa is about to pour ponzu all over Hanamaki’s hair, the door slides open and Oikawa’s entire world fades to silence.

 

The first time in almost three years. Three years is a long time. Three years is all of high school, the entirety of the years that Oikawa had been sure, positive, basking in concrete certainty that nothing, no one, not even volleyball or crushing Tobio-chan on the court, not anything could make him feel the way Iwaizumi does. His insides twist up in a burning knot and Oikawa forgets to smile, he forgets how to even go about doing it; all he can do is stare.

 

“Sorry I’m late, baggage claim was crazy,” Iwaizumi is saying to the room, amid cheers of happiness and nostalgia to see their travel-weary ace. He’s staring at Oikawa though, his eyes as sharp as ever, that honey brass brown, melting Oikawa’s nerves to needlepoints. He’s being seen right through, there’s nothing he could say or do to hide now--

 

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, with a punch to his voice that makes Oikawa inhale as deep as he can, “it’s really good to see you.”

 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says back, and maybe he manages a smile, he can’t tell, his hands in fists on the table, _I fucking missed you, asshole. Where do you even get off making me miss you that much?_

 

Matsukawa turns to Hanamaki, stone-faced and serious. “1000 yen.”

 

“So...” Hanamaki interrupts, grudgingly sliding the money over. As immune as he is to Oikawa and Iwaizumi, even he’s starting to suffocate just from watching the way they’re staring at each other. He doesn’t like the swirl of pity in his stomach when he sees regret written all over Oikawa’s face, so desperate with wanting. “Oikawa, before you start crying, maybe move over so your favorite Iwa-chan can sit down?”

 

Too flustered to say anything back, Oikawa fumbles himself together and moves. It’s surreal, just surreal--ever since he’s landed back in Tokyo, hell, since the flight, people have been recognizing him and asking him for hugs or photos, dazzled by his fame and talent. It’s not every day that someone can claim to be the best at something, in the _world,_ and Oikawa’s been saying it since he graduated high school. He’ll get global recognition soon, he’s just waiting for the next Olympics to roll around, he’s been training as much as he breathes, and no one ever plays with the intention of anything other than gold. 

 

But here he is, in this homey restaurant that Oikawa’s been going to since he was five, surrounded by friends who couldn’t care less about his stardom, and Oikawa is the one feeling starstruck. 

 

Time and distance, isn’t that what people say? He thought they were supposed to make heartache easier to bear.

 

Matsukawa and Hanamaki gesture with cheshire grins for Iwaizumi to sit and Iwaizumi does without rolling his eyes. Of course they’re at a table together, he and Oikawa, there was never any doubt. But after almost three years of absence, Iwaizumi has to relearn the distance between them, because talking to him on the phone and emailing every week can’t ever compare to seeing Oikawa up close. 

 

“He was waiting for you,” Hanamaki tells Iwaizumi, like a spoiled cat with cream, “wouldn’t stop checking the door.”

 

“I was not!” Oikawa explodes, face a fiery crimson. “Iwa-chan, don’t listen to this psychopath, he has no idea what he’s even saying.”

 

Iwaizumi looks at his best friend. Really looks at him from up close, from right beside him, eyes tracing the curve of chestnut curls at the base of Oikawa’s neck, to the apples of his cheeks, to the fan of dark eyelashes furiously blinking at Hanamaki, annoyed pout on his lips. “Oikawa,” he says, this side of hoarse. He’ll blame the cold. “You look good.”

 

Oikawa probably turns as red as he feels hot. “Y- You too,” he stammers, darting quick glances at Iwaizumi’s handsome face. He’s filled out more, grown up more, a little tanner than before. Oikawa can’t even hold his gaze. “Iwa-chan, stop _staring._ I- I know I’m good-looking but--”

 

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi says simply, turning back to the table like nothing at all, and Oikawa swallows the rest of his words.

 

_Don’t listen to me, don’t look away from me,_ is what Oikawa really wants to say, but he just tightens his grip around his chopsticks and forces a smile back on his face.

 

Hanamaki and Matsukawa are staring at them. Really hard. Whatever mirth had been in their eyes is replaced by something closer to curiosity and they share a look, bewildered. Luckily, Hanamaki has the social aptitude to talk about Miyagi, fill them in on what’s been going on, and Oikawa slowly relaxes again, offering Iwaizumi a small, real smile the next time their eyes meet.

 

“Want tsukune?” Iwaizumi offers, dropping a piece of eggplant on Oikawa’s plate. Oikawa eats it, nodding, and he realizes he’s only just noticed all the food on the table. He’s also starving.

 

Iwaizumi grabs a piece of tsukune and deposits it on Oikawa’s plate, looking at him until Oikawa actually eats it.

 

“Seriously?” Hanamaki asks, unimpressed, “I got nabe for him like thirty minutes ago and he didn’t even look at it.”

 

“You probably didn’t get what he likes,” Iwaizumi points out, like that’s not weird! Hanamaki gapes at him in incredulity; he really doesn’t think it’s weird!

 

“We can’t all be you, Iwaizumi,” Matsukawa says. And maybe that’s Oikawa’s entire life in a nutshell.

 

\---

 

They’re a lot of years out from high school but that doesn’t stop everyone from calling them third-years as they leave, eventually leaving just the four of them in the restaurant. There were offers to go drinking at a nearby izakaya or continue the party at karaoke but it’s been so long since it was just the third-years that they all politely decline, promising to get food and drinks again before Iwaizumi and Oikawa inevitably have to jet off once more.

 

Oikawa is further than halfway into drunk and Iwaizumi laughs every time Hanamaki challenges him to one more glass of sake. Hanamaki doesn’t hold his liquor that well but Oikawa is a professional athlete, he rarely drinks or even eats unhealthily; the battle was over before it began.

 

“I’m glad you could come back this year, Oikawa,” Matsukawa says, waving a hand in front of Oikawa’s face. Oikawa doesn’t even blink. “It’s nice to see you for the holidays.”

 

“Mnmm,” Oikawa mutters intelligibly.

 

“Mattsun!!” Hanamaki suddenly yells, “carry me home!!”

 

“Carry yourself home,” Matsukawa replies calmly.

 

“Iwa-chan~” Oikawa whines, flopping over so suddenly that it knocks all the breath out of Iwaizumi’s lungs, “I’m sleepy~!” He throws one of Iwaizumi’s arms up in the air and shoves at Iwaizumi’s thighs until they’re decently formed for a pillow, luxuriously lying himself down despite all of Iwaizumi’s complaints and swear words.

 

“What a piece of trash,” Iwaizumi sighs, letting Oikawa do whatever he wants, and even Hanamaki, nearly blackout drunk, sees the fondness in his face. Iwaizumi runs his fingers through Oikawa’s hair, tugging just a bit, and Oikawa whines with happiness. What nostalgia, to see this again. The only difference between now and high school is the beer on the table instead of cola. 

 

“He’s missed you, you know,” Hanamaki says, surprisingly steady for someone so drunk. “You’re all he ever talks about.”

 

Iwaizumi smiles, not without bitterness. “Like I talk about anything else but him, either.”

 

Silently, Oikawa’s fingers wrap around Iwaizumi’s ankle.

 

\---

 

Oikawa wakes up on new year’s eve with a dull headache and sandpaper in his mouth. Groaning with misery, he slowly slides off his bed, desperate to find water and some painkillers. He can hear his mom cooking downstairs. He looks at the clock--11:36am. Not great, but could be worse. Considering how late--

 

Oikawa almost swallows his tongue, diving back into bed to grab his phone. 

 

“Makki!!” he whisper-yells as soon as the line connects, “what the hell happened last night!?”

 

“Ugh, Oikawa, you suck so much,” Hanamaki groans, sounding as great as Oikawa feels, “we were out so late, did you have to call this early!?”

 

“Like I said,” Oikawa repeats, “what happened? I only remember falling asleep!”

 

“Yeah, that’s all,” Hanamaki mumbles, probably facedown in a pillow, “you fell asleep in Iwaizumi’s lap and you looked on top of the fucking world doing it. Then he took you home.”

 

“What??”

 

“He carried you all the way home, did you seriously sleep through all of it?”

 

“On his back!?” 

 

“What, did you want bridal style?”

 

Oikawa’s face burns with equal parts shame and frustration--shame, because he’s a grown ass man and he weighs as much, and frustration, because he apparently slept through _all_ of it. He was probably nose deep into Iwaizumi’s neck, and Iwaizumi’s hands were probably settled right at the backs of his thighs, and since it was so cold, Oikawa had probably been clinging closer, and so many more things Oikawa can’t find out sober!

 

“Just so you know, you’re mumbling out loud,” Hanamaki tells him, and Oikawa wails quietly as he rolls around on his bed. “Christ, Oikawa, why don’t you just ask him to be together like you’ve been wanting to since you could walk?”

 

“For your information, life is complicated,” Oikawa explains arrogantly, “we have very complex lives around us and many difficult things--”

 

“Shut uuuup, I’m way too hungover for this bullshit right now!” Hanamaki grumbles some more, there’s rustling, and then he sounds more awake after a few audible gulps of water. “Listen, oh-so-great-ex-captain of mine.”

 

“Makki! I don’t like your _tone!_ ”

 

“Oh shut up. You know Iwaizumi would go anywhere you asked him too.”

 

Oikawa stares at his volleyball-print bedsheets, hugging his knees to his chest. His mouth twists so he hides his face, pressing his forehead to his knees so he doesn’t have to see anything else. “I know,” he says quietly.

 

“So?” Hanamaki asks, “why don’t you?”

 

Oikawa shakes his head. “I was the one who left,” he says, and there, that’s the real truth of it. The entire world seems to cave in onto his shoulders, pressing down so hard that it leaves him shaking. It’s one thing to know it and another to admit it out loud, where he can no longer run from it. He doesn’t hold onto an iota of guilt for chasing his dreams, his calling--he knows it’s what Iwaizumi wanted for him, too. Iwaizumi’s nothing but happy for him, because this is what makes Oikawa happy. This is what he’s meant to do. He’s going to be the best in the _world_ at it.

 

_But I left Iwa-chan behind to do it,_ Oikawa still can’t say, and maybe he never will. 

 

“I think that’s why Iwaizumi left too, isn’t it?” Hanamaki answers, kind enough to pretend he can’t hear the way Oikawa’s voice is shaking. “He’s country-hopping anyway, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind doing it with you.”

 

“Like I could really ask him to do that,” Oikawa says, barking out a laugh, “he has his own life. I don’t even have the time to eat some days, I just forget, I can’t focus on anything else. What am I supposed to say, hey, I know I left already, but come stick around and wait for me until I can make you important in my life again?”

 

“I never said it was a nice thing to ask,” Hanamaki says immediately, voice hard, “but you know he’ll say yes, as long as you did.” And Oikawa reels his anger back in. Oikawa is Iwaizumi’s best friend, but Hanamaki is one of his best friends, too. It can’t be a great situation for any of them to watch this slow-moving train wreck, with Oikawa apparently in the driver’s seat. “For the record, as Iwaizumi’s friend, I won’t like you for it.” Oikawa squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenched. “But as your friend, Oikawa, I’m going to tell you the truth. I’ll like you even less if you keep not coming back to see us in the new years to come, because then I have to be the one that sees Iwaizumi’s face when you’re not here.”

 

Christ, Oikawa thinks, eyes stinging as he gets ready for the day. When did everyone grow up and leave him behind?

 

\---

 

“I’m sure he’s okay, Hajime-kun,” Oikawa’s mom is saying, ruffling his hair. He’s too old for it but she won’t give it up; old habits from toddler-hood apparently die hard. “Thanks again for bringing him back last night like that, I can only imagine how heavy he was.”

 

“No,” Iwaizumi answers truthfully, hands cupped around a mug of hot tea, seated beside her at the kitchen table, “I just wanted to make sure he was okay.”

 

She gives him such a look, then. Oikawa’s older sister is humming in the kitchen, helping with preparations, and it’ll probably only be a couple more hours before Iwaizumi’s mom brings over a car full of food so they can all have dinner together. Iwaizumi just couldn’t stay home anymore though, he wanted to see that Oikawa was okay. He just wanted to see Oikawa at all.

 

“Hajime-kun,” she says, and an inexplicable blush crawls up Iwaizumi’s neck. She pats the top of his head again, the mom he always knew he had just down the street, and he’s fiercely grateful that Oikawa finally came home for the holidays this year. 

 

“Mom?” Oikawa calls, halfway down the stairs, “do you know where we keep the- _Iwa-chan!!_ ”

 

Oikawa looks from Iwaizumi’s face to his mom’s hand in Iwaizumi’s hair and wants to die. They had _definitely_ been talking about Oikawa. 

 

“Iwa-chan, can you come help me with something?” he asks, voice tight and embarrassed.

 

“With what?”

 

“With something that needs help!!” Oikawa tries not to scream, sprinting back upstairs. He kicks his suitcase out of the way and even though the room had been pristine when he arrived three days ago, Oikawa’s something of a hurricane unpacker in that he does it all at once, and now he’s regretting all the shit he has lying around. 

 

Iwaizumi’s been in this room with him, in this very bed with him more times than he can count. What is there to really be embarrassed about? Why does it make him so nervous, now?

 

“What?” Iwaizumi asks, irritated, but he came nonetheless, hands shoved in his pockets as he leans against the doorframe. 

 

He came. All Oikawa had to do was ask.

 

_You know he’ll say yes, as long as you did._

 

“Uh, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa stalls, too many thoughts and none of them formed into words. He nervously looks around at the mess of his room, old anime figurines on his bookshelf, scifi movie posters on his walls, a neat row of textbooks lined up on his desk.

 

Iwaizumi arches an eyebrow, finally stepping in. “Oikawa, what?” He has the sense to close the door behind himself and Oikawa suddenly sits down on the bed, too overwhelmed to keep himself up. 

 

“We should catch up,” Oikawa says through numb lips, staring at Iwaizumi’s knees. 

 

How fucking magical. There wasn’t anything else he could come up with though, and Oikawa’s headache focuses to a point between his eyes, throbbing in time to his heartbeat. Thankfully, Iwaizumi only silently comes to sit beside him, a little farther than normal but a lot closer than most friends. 

 

“What’s wrong, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asks, “you’ve been kind of weird for the last few months.”

 

“You noticed?” Oikawa asks miserably. Even over the phone, there’s no fooling Iwa-chan.

 

“Idiotkawa, I’m your best friend.”

 

It takes an ocean of willpower not to let his face crumple. “Yeah,” Oikawa whispers, digging his fingers into the mattress, “you are.”

 

That only makes Iwaizumi frown harder. “Are you going to tell--”

 

“Your job,” Oikawa interrupts, turning enough to look at Iwaizumi’s jaw, following the angle of it to his cheek. “Do you like it?”

 

“What? Uh, yeah. Yeah, it’s good. I like the perks.”

 

Oikawa nods, swallowing. “Iwa-chan,” he says, _push, Tooru, one more,_ “why did you leave Japan? And don’t tell me it was for work.”

 

Iwaizumi sucks in a shallow breath, staring at the intensity in Oikawa’s eyes. They’re dark, depths unknowable to him now, just slightly out of reach. Oikawa won’t seem to look at him much after three years; that’s a new development. Iwaizumi hates it.

 

“Is it because I left?” Oikawa breathes, a rush of shame and guilt and regret, ready to drop to his knees. Iwaizumi would hold no grudge, he wouldn’t even be a tiny bit mad, but Oikawa’s happy to shoulder enough blame for the both of them. He’s good at that.

 

After a tense moment of silence, once Oikawa’s about to burst straight into childish tears, Iwaizumi laughs. Just once, but it’s enough to startle Oikawa into looking at him.

 

“No,” Iwaizumi says. His smile is kind and understanding and resigned, Iwa-chan in every way that Oikawa has known him. “I left because you were no longer here to make me stay.”

 

“So it’s because I--”

 

“No,” Iwaizumi repeats, “listen to me, Oikawa.” They sit on the edge of Oikawa’s bed, the same way they did at every season of their lives, through all the dramatics and ennui and failures and inevitable successes. Iwaizumi is so close, but he’s always been close to Oikawa’s heart--that’s what makes it so hard to be away.

 

That’s why it took nearly three years for him to gather the fortitude to make it back this way, his roots and his home, because he didn’t know if he could bear to leave a second time. 

 

How is he supposed to keep choosing to leave? When that always ends up meaning leaving Iwaizumi behind?

 

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi repeats, a hot hand suddenly in the middle of Oikawa’s back. This is the first time they’ve touched in three years--maybe longer. Oikawa’s eyes whip to him again, his lips pressed in a shaky, twisting line. “You have to go where you need to,” he says simply, “I’m proud of you. The next Olympics is only the next one, you know? There’s still the one after that, and knowing you, the one after that, too.”

 

“Stop,” Oikawa whispers, jagged rock in his throat. He remembers that cloudless autumn afternoon in high school, the cheers for Karasuno fading in a gym they’d already left, nothing but blue above them, and how sure he had been then that nothing would change between him and Iwaizumi, even as his career in volleyball could only change from then on. But that’s a lie of comfort, it has been since Oikawa had been old enough to know what wanting was. He wants change, he wants more, but Iwaizumi is his best friend, and he can’t ask for so much, even if Hanamaki is right.

 

“I’m always here when you need,” Iwaizumi says, like that makes it _better._ “Whenever you--”

 

“And what if that’s all the time?” Oikawa demands, cutting him off. He’s a little angry. How dare Iwaizumi say that like he thinks otherwise, like he thinks he’s being kind? There’s too much between them to keep playing pretend.

 

Iwaizumi assesses him seriously, liking the fire in his eyes. “Then it’s the same as always,” Iwaizumi tells him gently, “all you have to do is ask.”

 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says seriously, words thick and round.

 

“Idiot, don’t cry,” Iwaizumi teases, but Oikawa sees the sheen in his eyes, too. A setter knows his ace best; Iwaizumi is too much of a softie to act tough for longer than a hot minute. “If you really want me there,” Iwaizumi starts, a little uncertain, but Oikawa slaps a hand over his mouth, hard enough to make Iwaizumi startle.

 

“I’ve always wanted you there,” Oikawa nearly begs, “how could you not know that, even for a second? Didn’t you know?”

 

“Maybe,” Iwaizumi replies, gently prying Oikawa’s hand off his mouth so he can hold his hand, try to calm him down. “But I still wanted to hear you say it.”

 

“I don’t know if I can ask so much of you,” Oikawa admits, ashamed. Embarrassed, and painfully needful. “I don’t know how to live with it. I don’t know if you’ll be happy.”

 

“Hm...” Iwaizumi pretends to consider, laughing under his breath when he sees genuine panic creep into Oikawa’s expression. “Idiotkawa. You’ll be there, won’t you?” He reaches out to tug at a curling lock of hair right at Oikawa’s ear, fingers easing into a gentle press against Oikawa’s cheek. 

 

Oikawa _sighs,_ tilting his head into it.

 

“If you’re there, that’s always been enough reason for me stay.”

 

\---

 

Oikawa is under no illusions that everything will fall into place easily. He has too much going on to be an attentive partner 100% of the time. With the amount of training he does, he’ll be out more than he’s in, and without Iwaizumi on the court there with him, that’s hours apart they can’t get back. He’ll be moody, he’ll overtrain some days, he’ll inevitably get yelled at, and who knows if it’s really worth it for Iwaizumi to put up with him while he trains in this country and that all over the world. 

 

But he wants to get yelled at. He wants to be fussed over, he wants to see Iwaizumi’s grumpy face after practice when he picks him up, he wants to go to bed and wake up next to him every morning, he wants as much of him as he’s allowed to have, even if it’s selfish. 

 

It’s what he’s wanted since he was old enough to understand that there could be a day when Iwaizumi chooses to no longer be by his side. Knowing that was enough to affirm how deeply Oikawa wanted Iwaizumi to never be anywhere else.

 

“You’re thinking too loud,” Iwaizumi mumbles against his neck, and the vibration of his voice makes Oikawa laugh. Oikawa tightens his grip around Iwaizumi’s wrist, savoring the weight of him as they try to make do on Oikawa’s tiny dorm bed. “Why are you so restless? I can’t sleep.”

 

“Because you’re here, dummy!” Oikawa practically yells, earning him a flurry of shushes. 

 

“You’re not even supposed to be bringing guests here, Trashkawa! Just come back with me to my hotel, I have a long-term booking anyway.” 

 

“I don’t want to live in a hotel!”

 

“Stop pouting! Your training here is only for another month, and then it’s back to Japan, right?”

 

“I still don’t want to live in a hotel~”

 

Iwaizumi sighs, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at Oikawa’s overly awake face. “Idiot,” he says fondly, running his fingers through Oikawa’s hair. Oikawa positively purrs, tugging at Iwaizumi’s rumpled tshirt. “You still want to live in dorms once we’re back in Tokyo or do you want to move in with me?”

 

Oikawa’s smile freezes on his face, eyes going wide. “You- I- you kept the apartment?”

 

Iwaizumi shrugs. “I never gave up the lease after university. You said you liked it, right? I don’t know if you still--”

 

“Stop,” Oikawa says, sliding his hand around the curve of Iwaizumi’s waist, reaching for his spine. “You ramble when you get embarrassed.”

 

Iwaizumi is frowning but there’s some uncertainty on his face, and he looks so young when he presses a kiss to Oikawa’s cheek. He reminds Oikawa of that kid who used to hold his hand on the swings, a whole grand month older than him, but still insistent on being the one that takes care. What did Oikawa do right in his last life?

 

“You don’t really think I would go anywhere you’re not,” Oikawa teases gently.

 

“I just want you to always have a home to go back to,” Iwaizumi explains. 

 

“Then you best not get very far from me,” Oikawa replies, quiet, and Iwaizumi’s breath tightens in his lungs. The naked _need_ on Oikawa’s face, all that sadness, all that joy. 

 

_He’s shyer than I thought he would be,_ Iwaizumi thinks to himself, a thumb stroking Oikawa’s cheek as he kisses him. Just like that first time on new year’s eve, sitting on the edge of Oikawa’s bed, surrounded by their childhood, with Oikawa’s fists bunched in the back of his sweater. 

 

He cups Oikawa’s jaw and Oikawa opens his mouth with a soft sigh, his body melting into the curves of Iwaizumi’s. Oikawa kisses him like he’s hungry, starving, his palms running up and down the length of Iwaizumi’s back. He opens his mouth wider with a mindless moan and Iwaizumi presses their tongues together, drinking in the sweet, dizzy heat of him, not even minding that Oikawa is bodily holding him hostage. 

 

With a pleased hum in the back of his throat, Iwaizumi tangles his fingers back into Oikawa’s hair, tugging and carding his fingers through, swallowing Oikawa’s stuttered exhales. 

 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa breathes, nosing along his jaw before pulling Iwaizumi back with an insistent hand against his neck. He cradles Iwaizumi between his thighs, keeping him as close as he can. 

 

When Oikawa opens his eyes, just enough to see, his entire brain shuts down to see the way Iwaizumi’s looking at him. Caged in, Oikawa helplessly follows the slow drag of Iwaizumi’s tongue against his kiss-slick lower lip. “Fuck,” he whispers shakily, the only intelligible thought he can still muster. Then, Iwaizumi’s kissing him again, tongue hot in his mouth, a hand running up Oikawa’s side, over his ribs, over where his heart is about to pop out of his chest, and Oikawa decides not to lie to himself anymore.

 

There never was anything more important than this. Iwaizumi had just been kind enough to let him figure it out on his own.

 

\---

 

“A week is too long~” Oikawa whines, still wearing his fleece winter pajamas despite it being halfway through March, pacing around Iwaizumi who’s valiantly trying to pack.

 

“A week is not long,” Iwaizumi says, giving him a pointed look. Oikawa pouts, suddenly squirreling his way into Iwaizumi’s arms. “ _Tooru,_ ” Iwaizumi says, exasperated but obviously pleased, and tucks Oikawa away. 

 

“Bring back something yummy,” Oikawa mumbles. “Actually, just come back as soon as you can. We only just got settled in!! I wanted to re-explore Tokyo with you! Can you cut your trip short? Your work is so demanding! How about five days?”

 

“One exact week, Idiotkawa.” But Iwaizumi is smiling so wide, giving Oikawa’s hair a playful tug. “I already fucking miss you.”

 

“God, ugh, kill me!!” Oikawa wails dramatically, burying his face in Iwaizumi’s neck, “just try saying that again, Iwa-chan, just try and see if I ever let you leave!” He demures, slowly pressing a kiss to Iwaizumi’s throat. “Don’t forget to call me whenever you can.”

 

Iwaizumi laughs quietly, pulling back to squish Oikawa’s cheeks together, making the cutest ugly face. “Quit pouting.”

 

“Iwa-chan!”

 

“I’ll be home soon,” Iwaizumi says.

 

Because to have Oikawa here, in any country, to have chosen deliberately, in every way; that is a place to come back to. 

 

Oikawa smiles, squished face and all.

 

\---

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO in the haikyuu light novel #7 it’s just a cesspool of iwaoi anyway but the most important to me was the end shot of them after the shiratorizawa vs. karasuno match, walking home together:
> 
> “小学校の頃から、人生の半分近くずっと一緒にバレーをしてきた仲間。その見慣れた後ろ姿は、力強く、頼もしい、エースの背中だ。”  
> “The friend he’s been playing volleyball with for almost half his life now, since grade school. The familiar sight of his turned back, strong, dependable; the back of an ace.”
> 
> AND
> 
> “同じ道を行く限り、阿吽の呼吸と言われたふたりの関係はきっといつまでも変わらない。荷物もなく、私服で、いつもと様子は違えど、ふたりは毎日の部活帰りと同じように秋の道を並んで歩いていった。”  
> “Still walking the same path, the two often called a-un no kokyuu, their relationship will definitely never change. They’re without bags and in their casual clothes, different from usual, but the two walk home together just like they do every day after club activities, along the street in autumn.”
> 
> FORGIVE MY CLUNKY SHITTY TRANSLATION i am just filled with such emotion. Tell me you see canon of your OTP like that and can do anything but cry a lot and furiously write fic for them. Just go ahead and tell me they’re not eternal
> 
> Find me [@yuxisushi](https://twitter.com/yuxisushi) :)


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